


Reunited

by LLN3dseestheLight



Series: Take Me To Infinity [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Marvel Cinematic Universe Fusion, American Assassin Cameos, Angst, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Humor, M/M, Newt & Jackson Friendship, Post-Movie: American Assassin (2017), Post-The Death Cure, Spoilers for Season 1-3B for Teen Wolf, Spoilers for the Mazze Runner Movies & Books, Stiles Stilinski is Thomas (Maze Runner), That Scene in bout the movie and book
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-04-06 03:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19054525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LLN3dseestheLight/pseuds/LLN3dseestheLight
Summary: Stiles is reunited with someone he was sure had died. Who had been killed by Stiles’ hand? Being reunited with them brings back memories, Stiles wasn’t sure he wanted to remember.All Newt ever wanted since the fall of WCKED was to see his Tommy again. He never though that by going to visit his boarding roommate's home town that he would find his heart's desire.And the McCall Pack finds out that Stiles isn’t just Stiles…And that WCKED is anything but good.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is angsty, so angsty, the most so I've ever wrote.  
> Short chapters.

_“Please, Tommy, please…”_

_Thomas shook his head, no, no, he wouldn’t do it. He would not kill Newt, no matter how much Newt begged him too, Thomas couldn’t do that. Thomas needed the blonde boy too much. Thomas would never have survived all the things they had been through without him. Thomas’s expression was shocked as black ichor fell from Newt’s lips, making him look like he had rejected the bite of a werewolf… but werewolves weren’t real, right? He shouldn’t know about werewolves only Sti— Thomas glance up to see a gun in Newt’s hand, and he was holding it to his head._

_Thomas yelled out denial and smacked the gun out of Newt’s hands. Newt blinked; black eyes that looked demon possessed. Thomas shouldn’t know…then there was a knife digging into his chest._

_“Repent! Make this right!” Newt yelled at Thomas, “You always have to be the hero! You could have stopped this with the Creators deaths! But no, not, you! I hate you!”_

_Thomas screamed, in pain as the blade sank deeper into his chest, startling Newt into jerking back and taking the knife with him. Repulsively is the rage on Newt’s face. Then he is shoving the knife towards Thomas’ chest again._

_Thomas grabbed Newt’s wrist. Twisting the knife out of his hand and into Stiles own, **this** he knew **how** to do. The blade sank into Newt’s stomach with a sick, sucking sound, both boys stilled shocked at the blood—Newt’s blood, that ran over Stiles' hands, causing them to shake, at the savage feeling of joy at the sight of the blood caused. _

_From the corner of his eye, Stiles could see the bandaged wrapped, bomber-jacket, world war two uniform wearing figure creeping in the shadows. As if Stiles didn’t have enough demons of his own that haunted him, the Nogitsune’s memory liked to make itself known._

_The confused whispered, “Tommy?” Brought Stiles attention back to the boy, as he staggered into Stiles._

_“You’ll be okay,” Stiles whispered as he gathered Newt into his arms sinking to the ground._

_Newt, his dark brown eyes, now bright, soft and compassionate—Newt was himself once more, “It’s okay, you’ll be okay Tommy. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”_

_Stiles shook his head because this was a bad sign. “No,” he denied. Stiles wasn’t going to be okay. He would never be okay if he lost Newt. He would never be okay again._

_“I’m in your arms,” Newt said, on a cough, as black ichor fell from his lips and down his chin. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. I knew from the moment you entered the Maze to help Minho and Alby that I would follow you anywhere, my Tommy,” his hand coming up shakily to caress Stiles' cheek, “and…” his eyes fell closed, on the whisper of, “I have…”_

_“NO!” Stiles screamed in refusal. It had to be a dream, a nightmare because Newt couldn’t leave him. Not like this, “NO!”_

“NO!” Stiles screamed, sobbing, himself awake.

The door slammed open as John Stilinski came barreling into his son’s room and over to the bed, “Stiles!”

“I’m awake, Dad.” Stiles muttered, “Sorry, I woke you.”

“Son,” John started, but Stiles cut him off,

“You know my nightmares cycle,” Stiles told him. His breathing ragged and heaving. Ever since what happened with the Nogitsune, the nightmares had come more recurrently and intensity.

“Do you want to talk about it?” John asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Stiles drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees, shaking his head. “It was about when I was gone. I dreamed about _him_ , about what _I_ did to him…”

Stiles disappeared before the summer of his sophomore year of high school. That had been the longest eight months of John’s life, but he knew it had been worst for Stiles. He had lost people he cared about when a government-funded agency had kidnapped him and over sixty other teenagers and forced them to be a part of a social, environmental, and medical experiments against their will. They had gone so far as to chemical-induced amnesia to everyone involved during the tests and just before the agency was shut down.

It had been one of the last-ditch efforts to hide what they had done to all of those teenagers. Stiles was one of the _lucky_ few that survived, (many files had ‘deceased’ stamped on the photos of the teenagers taken) and got most of his memories of that time back.

“Do you want me to stay?” John asked tiredly. Stiles had told John about the nightmares; he had about the supernatural shit his son was involved with, Stiles never say anything when they were about what happened when Stiles had been taken. Stiles never wanted him to stay after a nightmare about _him_ …but to John’s surprise his son nodded. John pulled Stiles into his arms when Stiles began to sob in earnest, a single name falling from Stiles' lips like a mantra,

_“Newt, Newt, Newt…”_

***

 

Jackson Whittemore sighed, slapping on the light on the nightstand as the other occupant of the room woke up with a strangled scream, a name is dying on his lips. If anyone had told Jackson a few months ago that this kid would become his friend? Jackson would have laughed. Jackson was the kind of guy that didn’t like anyone. The friends he did have were few but the best he could ask for, Jackson watched as his roommate glanced wildly around the room, when his gaze landed on Jackson, it was with a blank stare.

“Again, Sam?” The other teenager ran a hand through his tangled sandy blond hair with a sigh and nodded. Since becoming Samuel Wilcox’s roommate, nightmares were a nightly thing. Bad dreams were something that Jackson understood since he had more than a few himself. From what little that Sam had shared anyone would have nightmares about that. Jackson knew that the guy had been kidnapped a couple of years ago, Sam hadn’t shared any of the details about what had happened to him.

“Sorry, mate,” Sam whispered, his expression far off and haunted.

Jackson rolled to his side, glaring at the other boy as he propped his head in his hand, “Come home with me.”

“What?” Sam asked.

“You heard me.” Jackson stated, “Your parents love me, and mine think you are a good influence on me. We can both finish out our senior year in Beacon Hills, in a traditional school like real teenagers, if you like the town enough after summer is over.”

“You think you can get my parents to agree to that?” Sam asked uncertainly.

Jackson nodded, “This place is so boring. I think you’ll like my home town and I know my friends will love you. I can’t wait to introduce you to Danny.”

Sam twitched nervously at the name, “Just because I might like boys doesn’t mean I’ll like your friend or he’ll like me.”

Jackson laughed, “You’re cute, Sam. He’ll like you. Come on; anything has to be better than this place.”

Sam sighed, “Fine, but only for the summer, and if I don’t like the town or your friends,” Sam trailed off, laying back down on his bed.

“Huh,” Jackson murmured, “That was easier than I thought it would be. Why was it that easy?” Knowing it wouldn’t be too hard to convince Sam’s parents to let him come to Beacon Hills for the summer or the new school year.

“Because Shank, I don’t want to be here anymore that you do,” Sam muttered.

“Are you ever going to tell me what that piece of British slang means?” Jackson whined because he would like to know what Sam was calling him. Sam only shook his head, reaching over and turning out the light.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles was walking home from the movie theater with Malia, trying to explain why a DC superhero movie with a cast that is all of people of color was a groundbreaking thing that almost broke the internet. He was still trying to teach her how to human. To be a typical teenager, not that Stiles thought he was anywhere close to being normal himself but Malia was his friend, and he knew it was his fault she wasn’t a real coyote anymore. Stiles knew that the girl missed running on four legs, so he did what he could to show her that being a human girl wasn’t that bad.

Stiles wasn’t sure he succeeds in this very well. They were walking past the red brick wall, of a building when he caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of his eye,

WICKED IS GOOD.

It was written in block letters, in black and white paint, giving the words a 3d effect making the words jump from the wall. Stiles found it hard to breathe for a minute…maybe it was longer than a minute if the concerned looks Malia was giving him. He gave the wall a closer look and saw above the words in the same style of writing,

**ING

The first two letters were scratched out, but Stiles could tell it was supposed to say ‘Being Wicked Is Good.’ Slowly he let out his breath then inhaled deeply; he’d accidentally misread the words. That’s all.

“Stiles?” Malia asked, worriedly.

Stiles turned sharply away from the wall. “It’s nothing,” he sighed out. But it was something. “I promised you pizza since you can’t have deer.”

Malia makes a face, “It’s not that I can’t have it. It’s you _won’t_ let me have. I don’t understand why? It’s a healthy choice!”

Stiles nodded. “And when you can stay in control your shift? Then you can go hunting for deer all you want. Until then? Pizza will have to do.”

Malia groaned in disappointment before jogging towards her favorite pizza place without waiting for Stiles. Stiles turned back to look at the wall for a long moment. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was happening or going to happen. Those words mocked him like an omen of a past he couldn’t forget.

 _If once is an incident…_ Stiles shook his head and went after Malia.

***

It was a week later while Stiles was with Scott and Kira, at the mall, this time when he saw the words again. In yellow spray paint, near the food court, and once more in red letters on the map of the mall, that was at the entrance/exit.

WICKED IS GOOD.

Stiles wasn’t the only one to notice the graffiti tags. His father muttered about the complains he was getting about them, but nowhere close to catching the artist doing them.

 _If two is a coincidence…_ The thought was pushed aside when his dad asked about getting burgers for dinner, and Stiles had to veto that for a healthier option.

***

Stiles was sitting at his desk looking up useless things on Google, trying not to think about the nightmares he had almost nightly for the past week. He knew the upturn of the ones about _him_ had started when the graffiti began to appear all over town.

Most of the pack just thought was a bored teenager doing it. And if it had been anything but those words being used? Stiles would have agreed. It was a simple sentence of just three words. But those words sent pangs of terror throughout Stiles very being.

Because it meant one of two things, someone in town knew what had happened to Stiles a couple of years ago and was not so subtly trying to remind him of it. Or one of his enemies from that time and place had found him. And this was a bid to get Stiles attention. If that were so? It worked. They had his attention now. Stiles was going to making them regret gaining it. Just as soon as he figured out if it was paranoia or if someone was truly out to get him.

When the window to Stiles’ bedroom was thrown open, startling him, and a teenage werewolf climbed inside his room. Things had been peaceful; no supernatural problems had happened for the last few weeks. Stiles was hopeful that meant they would be free of such things for the summer.

“The door is a thing you use, Scott. You are picking up Derek’s bad habits.”

Scott snorted, as he settled into the armchair in the corner of the room, “Why is it you never complain when he’s the one climbing through your window?”

“Oh, I complain, Scott. It’s just that Derek was raised by wolves. You, I still have hopes for, your mother did in fact, teach you what a door was for, unlike Derek, who is beyond common sense. What do you need?” Stiles asked because lately Scott only came around when he needed information on the newest supernatural threat to the town.

“Help with Jackson’s welcome home party.” Scott sighed.

Jackson Whittemore had been in England ever since he got control of his wolf and his parents thought that Beacon Hills had too many bad influences. As far as Stiles knew Jackson was in some stuck-up, wealthy kid boarding school in London. At least that was what Lydia was telling anyone who asked.

Stiles frowned at the words that had come from Scott’s mouth, “Why in the hell would I want to help throw a ‘welcome back party’ for _Jackson Whittemore_? I was hoping he would stay gone. Because I sure haven’t missed him. Have you, Scott?”

“Don’t be like that, Stiles,” Scott said. Scott’s face did that thing that Stiles hated, where Scott looked at him like Stiles had just kicked a puppy. “Lydia is excited about having a reason to have a party; she even got Derek to agree to hold it at the loft.”

Stiles spun his desk chair around to face his friend, “Are you serious?”

Scott nodded, “Yeah. I think Derek is afraid to say no to her.”

“Aren’t we all?” Stiles muttered. Because a Lydia Martin denied what she wanted was a terror that left devastation in her wake.

“So,” Scott drawled out the word, “you’re in, right?”

“I don’t…” Stiles trailed off at the return of the ‘look,’ “Of course I’m in. Let’s welcome the killer lizard back to Beacon Hills.”

“He’s just going to be here for the summer,” Scott said.

“A lot can happen during the summer, Scott,” Stiles said, a dark expression crossed his face.

***

“Sam?”

The blonde boy looked over at Jackson and away from the window of the airplane.

Even after all this time he had a hard time remembering to answer to _that_ name. It just wasn’t him. He didn’t think of himself as _Samuel Wilcox_. He barely knew _who_ that was and only knew who he had been from what he had learned from the people that recused him and the others.

What had been in the file Sam had been handed by one of the federal agents that were part of the recuse squad. He learned he had come from a well-off family, that was distantly related to the Royal House of England. And little else before his parents had stuck him in boarding school without a second thought. What happened to him was an embarrassment to people who cared more about their standing in society than they did their son.

Out of sight, out of mind. That was how the old saying went. At least he _thought_ that’s how that saying went.

“You okay?” Jackson asked.

“Don’t like bloody flying. Never ends well.” Sam said, buckling his seat belt.

“Don’t give it to much thought in a few hours we’ll be home.”

How could that be so easy for Jackson to say that? The blonde only remembered one place as a home, and he had hated that woodland glade as much as he loved it though he had cared more for the people than the site.

Time passed quickly, and so slowly after that. It wasn’t long before the plane trip was over, and they were in a car driving to Jackson’s home town. The passing scenery was beautiful to watch, a lot of trees, and open grassy lands. Then a sign with red letters on a white background, a black cyclone was on it with the population number on it. The car pulled up to a lovely house in the best part of the small town. It wasn’t long after that he was being shown to a room then came unpacking his suitcase and a shower.

The blonde was drying his hair with a towel, when Jackson barged into his room, “Hey, loser, get dressed. We have a party to go to.” Jackson froze staring at the water still dripping down the other boy’s chest, lucky he had another wrapped around his waist for modesty sake

“Are you bloody serious, Jaks?” He gave his friend a skeptical glance, “We just got in from an eleven-hour flight with a two-hour drive! I’m bloody tired. All I want to do is to crawl into that nice, soft looking bed. No party for me.”

Jackson’s mouth twisted into a petulant pout, “We are going. You are going, get dressed, or I’ll dress you. And that will not be fun for either of us, Sam.”

“Fine,” came a grumpily, hissed reply.

The blonde got dressed in a pair of black jeans, a white long-sleeved Henley shirt, he casually styled his hair and put on a pair of black Doc Martin boots. Before leaving the room and going downstairs. Jackson gave him a slow once over with a nod of approval, “You’ll do.”

“Thanks. Glad you won’t be ashamed to be seen with me.”

“I never said that, Sam,” Jackson said with a grin.

“Can we just go?”

Jackson nodded, and they left the house and got into Jackson’s way too, an expensive sports car. It was a short trip through town to what looked like a warehouse district. Jackson pulled up to the soundest looking building that had a group of other cars in front of it. Jackson dragged him out of the car and into the building, introducing him to people as he went.

There was the pretty ginger haired girl that hugged Jackson. Sam was pretty sure that her name started with an L, but he wasn’t sure. There was Danny, dark-haired and tanned, cute but nothing exciting about the Hawaiian boy that he could see.

A handsome Hispanic kid with a sloping jawline, greeted Jackson, but seemed from what Sam understood, the boy was moping because his girlfriend was in France? But had his hand clenched around a pretty Japanese girl’s hand, standing next to him. Why was he holding her hand? If his girlfriend was in France?

“Oh!” The Hispanic kid exclaimed, “we should introduce Sam to Stiles.”

“Where is Stilinski. I thought the spaz would be attached to your hip, McCall?”

McCall shrugged, he pointed to a corner.

… _And time_ _stopped._

And there stood _Thomas_ looking like he wanted to be anywhere else but at this party. He was dressed in a light blue tight-fitting shirt, with a red and black long sleeved one over the blue, tan colored jeans and what looked like running shoes. The other teen was a little taller than he remembered and had dark almost black hair, shorter and worn in stuck up small spiky hairstyle, that seemed to defy gravity. He had a slightly upturned nose, amber colored eyes and a trail of beauty marks along his left cheek that ran down his neck. He remembered wondering more than once what they would taste like if he ever gathered up the courage press his lips to the other boy’s neck and whisper in the brunet’s ear how much he like him. It had been his favorite fantasy.

This was Tommy, _his_ Tommy; this was Sam’s hero! The boy he had sworn he would follow anywhere, everywhere. The boy who had damned them to the Maze and had saved them from it. All he wanted was to step closer to him. To be by that boy’s side once more, all he had ever wanted was to be by that boy’s side.

It couldn’t be him though; the blonde knew that. Sam walked towards the boy before he realized what he was doing it because he had to _know_ …

There was a ruckus near the front door of the loft. Stiles found himself in a dark corner of Derek’s apartment, a slightly alcoholic drink in his hand. Stiles downed half his drink in one go, waiting for the man of the hour to show up. _Leave it to Jackson to be fashionably late to his party._ Stiles thought, grumpily.

Well, Jackson had arrived, and now Stiles could say he had been there at the party it was time to sneak out the back door. Go home and watch so Netflix’s or maybe try to sleep? And risk another nightmare? _Netflix’s it is,_ Stiles thought.

__“Tommy?”_ _

At the sound of that voice, everything _froze._ Stiles’ body, his breathing, his thoughts.

There was no way, Stiles heard _that_ voice, in _that_ accent. It just wasn’t possible. The owner of that beloved voice was far beyond his reach.

Stiles slowly turned to look over his shoulder. The boy was tall, lithe, and looked like a strong wind could break him. But Stiles knew how _strong_ this boy was; he has sandy blonde hair, worn in a slightly longer style than Stiles last saw it in, falling like a halo. Those beautiful, soulful chocolate brown eyes, eyes that had always seemed to look right through him, into Stiles’ very heart and soul, where there were no secrets that Stiles could keep.

 _“Newt?”_ Stiles' head started to pound painfully as the memories he had tried hard to forget raced back so quickly, his time at WCKED. All the trials he had been through with his _piekny chlopak_ that had come back to haunt him.

“Tommy?” the boy whispered, holding out his hand, hopefully.

Stiles shook his head, “ _No_ ,” he whispered, terror filling him.

“Please, Tommy!” Newt whispered entreatingly, enticingly to him. Those words, those horrible, pleading words would be Stiles undoing. He could feel himself starting to unravel, bit by bit.

“No! _No!_ ” Stiles hissed, dropping his glass. The sound of it shattering on the floor broke the spell that had been keeping Stiles froze. He turned and did the only thing _Thomas_ was ever good at, _he ran_. Ran past the boy who cried out his name (and it was his name as much if not more so than Stiles was) as mournfully as any wolf’s howl, past his confused and concerned looking friends. Out the front door of the loft, down the long hall, the stairs, Thomas slammed into the front door of the building, shoving it open, running down the street towards the one place he could hide.

Thomas ran to the Preserve.


	3. Chapter 3

Newt watched in hurt and disbelief as Thomas, _his Tommy,_ ran from him. Newt was shocked to see Thomas here, in Beacon Hills, of all places. He had known Tommy was alive, but it had been decided by the doctors that treated the survivors of WCKED, that had been taken were **not** to have any contact with each other after they were recused. They spouted mental health and not encouraging co-dependency.

The last time Tommy had seen Newt was the **_Last City._** Quickly, Newt spun around and yelled for Jackson. After getting Jackson’s attention away from the ginger-haired girl, he exclaimed, “Go after him! Bring Tommy back to me!”

Jackson blinked stupidly for a moment because he knew that name. It was the name that Sam screamed out in his nightmares, or begged in sobbing breaths, most nights. Jackson muttered a dirty word under his breath, wondering why he didn’t put it together sooner, Stilinski had disappeared around the same time that Sam had been kidnapped from what Sam had told him which had been very little.

Still, Jackson asked the obvious question, “Stilinski is _Thomas?”_

“Jaks, please, I can’t go after him. He’s faster than me,” Newt sighed, sadly. Even though there was nothing physically wrong with his leg, Newt still sometimes limped. The doctors all told him it was psychosomatic. That he was suffering from mental trauma, and there was nothing wrong with his leg that there had never been a physical injury to it. “He was always faster than me, of all of us,” Newt muttered giving Jackson a desperate look. “Bring _my_ Tommy back to me. I’ll do anything you ask of me.”

Jackson stared into Newt’s eyes for a long, tension-filled moment before he turned to the Hispanic boy, “Where would he go, McCall?”

“What?” McCall asked, looking confused by the question.

“Where would he go! It’s not a stumper!” Jackson repeated, more harshly.

“Home?” McCall said.

“Why would he go there?” The pretty ginger-haired girl scoffed, “You can _find_ him there.”

“He’s heading towards the Preserve, Lydia,”

Newt had been right about the starting letter of the girl’s name. It was said by, quite frankly, the most good-looking man; Newt had ever laid eyes on. The man had black hair, lovely blue-green eyes, and an artful scuff of beard.

“How do you know that, Derek?” McCall asked.

Derek heaved a sigh, “Because I _watched_ him run in that direction from the window, Scott.”

“Oh,” Scott said, his eyes wide like a frightened puppy’s.

“Jaks, you need to go _now_ if you want to catch up to Tommy,” Newt told him. Because he knew it wouldn’t take long for Tommy to get far. There was a reason why Tommy had been their best runner in the Maze next to Minho, besides being the smartest of them all he was also one of the fastest.

Jackson snorted, “Please, I could catch up to him in my sleep.”

Newt narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Don’t be so sure of that.”

“Derek, Scott, you’re coming with me,” Jackson said.

“Why?” Scott asked.

Jackson sighed, “Because you know him, he’s your best friend after all, and Derek knows the preserve as well as Stilinski does.”

Derek nodded and headed towards the door, Scott didn’t look convinced but followed, Jackson paused when Newt called out, “Be careful, Jackson. Your friend won’t react like you think he will, he’s not thinking like himself right now.”

“If he’s not—” Jackson asked, “who _is_ he thinking like?”

“ _Thomas_.” Newt said flatly, “and if you back Tommy into a corner, he’ll be dangerous.” Newt knew just how truly dangerous the brunet could be when pushed. He had since the aftermath of it.

Jackson gave a disbelieving look as if he didn’t believe the boy, he knew he could be dangerous but followed after Scott and Derek.

Newt rubbed a hand over his face, the need to pace coming over him but before he could get the pretty ginger haired girl- Lydia stepped in front of him. “I think you need to explain what the hell is going on and why it just sounded like you just promised Jackson sexual favors if he brought our friend back here.”

Newt frowned, “If that’s what Jackson wants? He can have them. As long as he brings Tommy _back to me.”_

***

_“It doesn’t matter who we were; those people are gone and aren’t coming back. What matters is who we are now, and what we do here.” Newt said looking down at Thomas between the bars from the top of the pit._

_“Inspired?” Newt muttered after Thomas had asked if what he had said was inspirational enough, “Yeah, great. I feel bloody inspired.” It was perhaps the last thing Newt was feeling if the sarcasm in the blonde’s voice was anything to go by, which it was if he was feeling anything like Thomas did at this moment._

_“Where do you think you’re going?” Newt’s voice rang out from the shadows. Thomas watched as a small light flickered on revealing the blonde boy, leaning against the old jeep they had been using to travel in. How the hell did this kid always seem to know what he was going to do before Thomas did it?_

_“Don’t lie to me!” Thomas’ back hit the wall from where Newt had slammed him into it, “Not to me!” Something was wrong. This wasn’t Newt. This wasn’t his friend. Newt was never this angry about anything before, Thomas didn’t like were his thoughts were leading him. Considering the only conclusion was the Flare virus and that Newt had it._

_“Take it!” Newt said coughing up black ichor; he was holding a piece of rawhide tied -around a shotgun shell, at the end of it. It contained a letter he had said, one that Thomas was only to read when the time was right. How the hell would Thomas know when the right time was when his friend seemed to be all but dying in front of him._

_“Please, Tommy, please…” No, no, please Newt, please don’t make me do this!_

Newt’s voice played in Thomas’ head as he ran through the woods that he had grown up with and knew better than anywhere else in town. Memories slammed into him, and he couldn’t stop them. The part of him that was Thomas didn’t want them too. Memories, dreams, even nightmares had been the only time Thomas could hear Newt’s voice, see his face, feel his touch.

Thomas ran through a clearing that suddenly appeared like magic, he tripped over a tree root and landed on top of a huge tree stump, skinning his hands, feeling the blood well up on them. He stayed there a moment before flipped over onto his back, panting for breath. The half-moon stared down at him from between the trees; a there was howled in the distance. Thomas knew that sound should worry him though he couldn’t remember why at the moment. All he could think about was _Newt_ …

They had not told him! _They_ had let him think Newt was dead for the last couple of years! They had _lied_ to him when he had point blank asked the agent in charge of the people that had saved them from WCKED if Newt was alive if the others were too?

Agent Raphael McCall had told him, even shown him the file for Newt that that had been marked ‘deceased’ in red letters as a favor to Stiles’ father. Stiles never understood why he wasn’t allowed to see the surviving Gladers or the other people he had known while in WCKED.

Later Stiles had found some of the Gladers through his research. Those that were alive Stiles had contacted them and stayed in contact with them when he could.

Newt was alive, Thomas thought in wonder.

_Newt was alive!_

Newt was here, in Beacon Hills! Thomas thought in amazement.

_Newt was here!_

Thomas didn’t know what he was supposed to do now. Or what Stiles would do about it.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Jackson bend over his hands braced on his knees, panting for breath. They had stopped in front of the ruins of the Hale House to rest for a moment. “How the hell did Stilinski get so far so fast? Shouldn’t we have overtaken him by now?”

Derek snorted, barely looking winded, to Jackson’s disgust, “Stiles has been running with us for the last two years. He can keep up.”

“Plus,” Scott panted, “He’s been doing track and cross-country since sophomore year. He’s fast.”

Jackson glared at McCall, “We are _werewolves_ ; we should be faster than a human teenager!”

“It’s Stiles,” Scott said as if that was an acceptable answer. And what ranked Jackson was that Derek nodded in agreement with Scott.

“Scott go back to the loft, get your car, and come back here.” Derek said, taking in the scents on the air, “I think I know where he might be.”

Scott frowned, then his eyes widened, “Are you sure he would go there?”

Derek nodded.

“Okay,” Scott said before running back the way they had come.”

Derek turned west of the house and began a slow jog. Jackson followed for about ten minutes before asking, “Where are we going?”

Derek only pointed ahead of him, saying, “There.” ‘There’ just happened to be a clearing, in which a large tree stump sat and on top of the stump was Stilinski, who was sound asleep. Derek walked over to the stump, looking down at the boy, “Must have run until he exhausted himself.”

“Why would Stilinski come here? From what Lydia said, this thing is evil.” Jackson motioned to the stump. Derek didn’t answer only pick up Stiles in a bridal carry and turned around to walk back to the Hale House to wait for Scott.

***

After the ginger-haired girl got rid of most of the people that had been at the party, a few remained. The pretty Japanese girl, a blonde with bright red lipstick who sat in the lap of a dark-skinned boy that reminded Newt of Alby, in the way they had quiet but dependable presents and Danny.

Newt was pacing the length of the loft suspiciously watching the others in the room that were watching him just as warily. They hadn’t asked questions after he had told them he would explain after Tom- No, they had said the boy’s name was— Newt’s head jerked to the left when the mental door rolled open and the good-looking man with the scruffy beard— _Derek_ , Newt, remembered someone calling the man that, came in carrying Tommy.

The others in the apartment clamored around Derek, who, _growled_? Making them fall back as he put Tommy down on the bed that was in the corner of the room. Why there was a bed in the edge of the room? Newt didn’t know, and it wasn’t crucial for him to know. Not when _his_ Tommy was so close. Newt wasted no time going over to the bed, going so far as to elbow some of the people in his way, out of it.

Newt ignoring the exclamations and more _growls?_ From them as he climbed on the bed and plastered himself against Tommy. He reached out and pushed that lock of hair that always fell over Tommy’s forehead, back into place. “Tommy always crashed hard after a run. We should have some water for him when he wakes and something light to eat. How long has he been asleep?”

“Since we found him at the Nemeton,” Derek said from where he was sitting on the other side of the bed.

Lydia’s eyes widened, “You were gone for less than thirty minutes! The Nemeton is at least seven point five miles from here! How did he get that far?”

Newt ignored the strange word for now. _Nemeton_. He’d ask about it later. “He ran,” he couldn’t keep the dry sarcasm that tinged his voice at bay when he answered Lydia. “It’s what Runners do.”

A pretty blonde girl stepped towards the bed, her red painted lips twisted into a snarl as she said, “Why could I hear the capitalization of that word? And how do _you_ know Stiles? And why are you calling him, Tommy?”

“What the hell is a _Stiles_?” Newt asked, glaring at the girl. The muttered, sleepily reply of “Imma a Stiles,” came from the boy next to Newt. Newt returned his attention to Tommy, looking down he could see Tommy looking up at him through his eyelashes. “Tommy?”

The calculating, dead look in those dark amber eyes was all wrong for Tommy though. No, that looked belonged to a highly trained, highly dangerous man.

“ _Katrina_ …” came the sighed name.

Newt cursed under his breath. This was bad. Very bad. And there was only one way to contain the man Newt knew lurked beneath the surface of Tommy’s mind. Newt took a deep breath, closing his eyes, letting the memories of the hot summer sun on his skin, the scent of the ocean filled _her_ nose, the taste salt is bitter on her tongue, the sound of gunfire echoes in her ears.

“ _Katrina…”_

Katrina Harper opened her eyes and looked down at the man she loved, the man she had agreed to marry. “ _Mitch,_ ” she breathed out. It had been so long seen Katrina had seen him. She missed him so much and longed for the moment until they could be together again. She hated the organization that Mitch worked for kept them apart. She leaned down and threaded her fingers through Mitch’s hair. Mitch turned his head into the touch.

“Do you hate me?” Mitch whispered, “For the things, I’ve done?”

Katrina blinked, shocked at the question, “What you’ve done?”

Katrina had watched this man spent years learning the things he needed to know to take down the terrorist that had killed all of the people on the beach that day. “You got justice for those people, for me,” Katrina said, knowing she had— _what had happened to her_? She wondered. - on the beach that day too, leaving this man to spiral down the road of vengeance.

“You’ve saved so many people since then. How could I hate you? I’d follow you anywhere…Rest now, Mitch. You aren’t needed right now.”

Mitch smiled slightly, as his eyes fell shut. Katrina leaned down, her lips barely brushing against his, “My Mitch,” she whispered.

“Sam?” There came a snapping noise near her ear. Katrina turned a glare to the noise. This was her time to be with Mitch; how dare— “Sam!” _Who the hell was Sam?_ It sounded familiar in a distant sort of way…” _SAM!_ ”

Newt blinked; confused for a moment, having to be jarred out of Katrina’s mindset so harshly. “Jackson,” he asked, looking at his friend.

“What the hell was that?!” Everyone in the room exclaimed.

***

Derek had been worried about Stiles, well since the moment he had met the boy if he was truthful about it. Stiles was such a strange mix of contrasts, kind, compassionate, yet, cruel and ruthless, brilliant and rash. It had drawn him to the boy as much as it repealed him. Because far too offend Stiles reminded him of all the things that had drawn him to Paige and…to Kate Argent as well. It was why he could never decide how he should treat Stiles, like an enemy or a would-be lover. It caused their…friendship to be a strained-filled one.

The one thing Derek had never thought he would see was something that could cause Stiles to run. Stiles always face danger, be it supernatural, Hunters or teenagers bent on causing chaos. Derek had watched Stiles _run away_ in terror from a boy that a light breeze could break. Unlike Whittemore, Derek wasn’t surprised at how far Stiles had gotten in the short head start he had. Stiles speed had saved his life or that of a pack member in the last few years.

When Derek brought back a sleeping Stiles to the loft, he watched in amusement as the blonde boy fearlessly pushed his way in front of the growling pack and claimed the spot by Stiles side. The corner of Derek’s lips, ticked up at the blonde’s question of ‘what a Stiles’ was; it was a question everyone who had ever met Stiles Stilinski asked themselves.

Derek frowned though when he noticed that Stiles scent _changed_ it was no longer that of ozone, herbs, chocolate’n’peanut butter, teenage arousal but that of gun oil, male sweat, stale coffee, and adrenaline. The blonde boy’s eyes widened at the name Stiles whispered but didn’t seem surprised by it.

Derek heard Lydia asked who “Katrina,” was to Whittemore but he looked as confused as everyone else in the room.

Derek watched as the blonde boy closed his eyes and his body shivered, when the boy opened his eyes, Derek got the feeling that this was not the same person as a moment ago although he couldn’t say why. Derek inhaled, catching the salty scent of the ocean and hibiscus flowers wafting from the boy.

“ _Mitch_ ,” the boy breathed out, brown eyes soft and full of love.

“Do you hate me?” Stiles whispered, staring at the other boy as if he was the only thing that mattered in the world, “For the things I’ve done?”

For a split second, a look of anger crossed the blonde’s face; it softens as he said, “What you’ve done? You got justice for those people, for me.”

Derek wondered what they were talking about because the scent of pain and grief radiated from the two of them.

“You’ve saved so many people since then.” The blonde said oh-so-gently, “How could I hate you?”

Stiles was a protector, Derek knew that Stiles had protected him and the pack from so many threats, even from himself when he was the threat to the pack when possessed by the Nogitsune. No one who knew Stiles could hate him, be annoyed by him yes, hate him? No.

“I’d follow you anywhere…” the blonde boy, softly said.

_Why did that sound like a declaration of love?_ The tone, the boy, had said it in was the same as most people would say ‘I love you’ in. Derek glanced at some of the others in the room; he saw how riveted they were by what was playing out in front of them, even if they were confused by it.

“Rest now, Mitch.” Derek could see how enthralled Stiles was by the boy. Derek had never seen Stiles look at anyone that way, not even Lydia, who Stiles had proclaimed to be his goddess. “You aren’t needed now.”

Stiles smiled slightly at the boy, his eyes falling closed.

“ _My Mitch_ ,” The boy said in the same tone he had said the name Tommy in earlier.

Derek watch with a small amount of jealousy as the boy leaned down and gave Stiles a kiss that was a bare brush of lips against Stiles. Not that Derek had any right to be jealousy, he never said anything about the small infatuation he had for Stiles. Besides he was dating Braeden, which was great. She was the longest and safest relationship he had, had to date.

Whittemore yelled the name ‘Sam’ a few times at the boy. Derek guessed that it was the boy’s name. Slowly Derek noticed that the scent of strawberries, dirt, and the smell of old books overtook one of the saltwater, brine, and flowers. It took a few moments for the boy to respond to the name, and he glared at Whittemore before he did, then his expression cleared, as he asked, “Jackson?”

“What the hell was that?!” The pack exclaimed in almost unison.

Before the boy could answer, Stiles, roused again, looking up and whispered, “ _Newt?_ ”

 


	5. Chapter 5

Newt looked down at Tommy, the boy looked wild-eyed and scared as he had the first time, he had met the boy in the Glade.

“Newt?” Thomas whispered, then lunged up, looking confused, “I…run… the Maze!”

“No,” Newt said, trying to shove him back down onto the bed. “You don’t have to run anymore! We’re safe! We’re not in the Maze!” But Thomas wasn’t listening, fighting to get up. Derek put his hand on Thomas’ shoulder helping Newt push the other boy back down.

“Stiles stop before you hurt yourself!” Derek snapped.

Stiles stilled, looking at Derek then to Newt. “Oh, I know this…” he laughed sadly, “…is a dream. I should’ve known that. It’s the only way _Sourwolf_ and you would ever be in bed with me at the same time.”

Derek raised an eyebrow amused at what Stiles had just said. Derek knew he should leave it alone but asked, “And why wouldn’t we be here?”

Stiles turned his head, “Well, you are straight for one thing, Derek. And dating a scary woman, as I’ve known you to do, my almost-never going to happen, love interest.” Derek blinked, blankly, which was par course for the wolf. Stiles twisted his head to look at Newt, tears forming in his eyes, “and you, _piekny chlopak,_ are **dead**. I killed you, remember. In the Last City, as you begged me too.”

“I _never_ should have asked you to do that.” Newt whispered, “I should have been brave enough to do it myself. I tried it before in the maze…” Stiles sprung up before Derek could stop him and pulled the blonde into his arms, hugging him tightly, shaking his head, burying his face in the blonde’s neck.

“My fault, I repented, I took responsibly…” Stiles murmured.

Newt shoved the boy away from him. “It wasn’t your fault. WCKED was at fault for what they did to us.”

“I designed the Maze, the Trials…”

Newt shook his head, “No! You designed a few scenarios! WCKED put us through them!”

“Enough!” Scott shouted, causing everyone to look at him. He walked over to the bed and crossed his arms over his chest. “You two need to start making sense. Because right now you don’t, you’re talking crazy.”

_How do we tell them what happened to us without sounding insane?_ Newt wondered. He wasn’t sure he could. Because if he hadn’t lived through it, he wouldn’t believe it either. Newt exchanged a look with the other boy, “Tommy…”

“Stop that!” Scott growled, “His name is Stiles!”

Newt flinched at Scott’s tone.

“Careful Scotty-boy,” Scott reared back at the coldness in Tomm- _Stiles_ voice, “you are about to overstep. And not even years of friendship will save you if I think you mean to harm Newt. If he wants to call me by the name, he knows _me_ the best by; Newt can. But _only_ Newt calls me Tommy. Do you understand?” Stiles asked, glaring at the others in the room one by one.

“I don’t care what he calls you!” Scott said, “What I want to know is what the hell is going on between the two of you?!”

Newt settled closer to Thomas- err- _Stiles_ , “About two years ago I was kidnapped by an organization called WCKED. Along with almost sixty people, teenagers and people in their early twenties. We were forced to participate in a series of social, environmental and medical experiments that took place in a mixture of virtual reality and actual reality to the point, well, it was hard to tell what was a scenario they wanted us to play out for them and what was real. It was there I met Tommy, I err I mean Stiles,” Newt turned to look at Tommy, “I can’t, mate, that’s just not you.”

“You can call me Tommy. They can call me Stiles,” Stiles glared at the pack, “and anyone who doesn’t like it? Can take it up with me.”

“What’s wicked?” Erica asked.

“World in Catastrophe: Killzone Experiment Department,” Stiles said, flatly.

“Sounds like someone really wanted their acronym to spell: wicked.” Derek said.

“Right,” Stiles muttered.

“Wait!” Lydia exclaimed, “is that what happened when you disappeared before sophomore year, for those few months?”

Stiles nodded.

Jackson said, annoyed, “But why did you call Sam by a girl’s name?”

Stiles looked at Newt and raised an eyebrow, grinning, “Sam? That’s your real name? Does this mean I get to call you Sammy?”

“Do not call me that, ever, Tommy.” Newt said, flatly, “You don’t get to do that. You do go by _Stiles_ of all things? Which tells me your real name? Must be bad. My name is Newt.”

“Why don’t I get to call you, Newt?” Jackson asked.

Newt felt Stiles bristle next to him, “You are lucky. I let you call me Sam, shank.”

Stiles relaxed, at his words and laughed against Newt’s neck. “He’s more of a slint-head, don’t you think?”

“He is, he really is,” Newt agreed.

“What does that even mean?” Jackson moaned, miserably.

“Stiles said something about a Maze?” Lydia asked, and the small moment of levity was gone in an instant.

“Yeah,” Stiles muttered, then explained about the Maze and the monsters that were in it. Newt told about the Scorch and the post-apocalyptic world they had thought they were a part of, and of the disease that created the living dead, the Flare.

“There were other scenarios that they put us through.” Newt said softly, saying nothing about them not wanting the memories to overwhelm him, “Tommy was WCKED’s favorite test subject.” Newt felt bad when Stiles flinched at his words.

Stiles' eyes narrowed at Newt, “You were the second favorite, then came Minho and Teresa.”

Newt nodded, “I was a favorite only because we always seemed to find each other no matter what scenario they put us in.”

“The Maze and the Trials after were the worst,” Stiles said.

“It wasn’t the first time I died during a scenario, Tommy,” Newt said quietly.

“No,” Stiles snapped, “but it was the first time _I_ killed you in one!”

“And what did you do after that?” Newt snapped back.

“I…”

“You went on a _rampage_ and _destroyed_ WCKED.” Newt said, “At least the version of it that was in the VR world. I know this because, at the moment of my ‘death’ in the Last City, I was pulled out of the system and forced to watch what you did!”

“Do you blame me for what I did? For avenging you, avenging all of us, the only way I could?”

“Of course not! But Tommy, Ava was so horrified by what you did to the VR versions of her, Janson and WCKED they deemed you so dangerous that they talked about doing a Full Swipe! You would have been a vegetable!”

“What is a Full Swipe?”

It had been Erica that asked that question Stiles knew without looking; he sighed, “Do you remember when SHIELD released those files on the internet about the Winter Soldier? And I freaked out when we saw the video of Sgt. Barnes shoved into that chair? The one that we learned wiped his memories and let HYDRA make Barnes into the perfect weapon?”

Erica nodded.

“WCKED in implanted a computer chip into the necks, near the brain stem of everyone they kidnapped. These chips are were used to control our minds and bodies. They would wipe our memories before putting us into a scenario. We called it a Swipe, because it would wipe away our memories like the swipe of an eraser on a white board.

Everything that makes us, well, us would be gone.

But because of the computer chips, we would keep the skills we had learned in the real world or other scenarios. The thing they used to take our memories was a lot like that chair. I’m pretty sure WCKED was working with HYDRA, and they were partners with the RED ROOM but it’s only a theory, I can’t find any proof.” Stiles told them.

“SHIELD, HYDRA and the RED ROOM are not real. Just internet myths!” Lydia said, “There is no way the video of the ‘so-called- Winter Soldier’ is real.”

“Yeah,” Stiles drawled, “and New York didn’t almost get wiped out by a Norse God leading an alien invasion a few years ago.” Lydia made a face at Stiles. Stiles knew she hated it whenever he brought that up.

Stiles friends were troubled at this information if their expressions were anything to go by, Newt thought. “The people in charge of WCKED couldn’t understand how or why Tommy and I were always drawn to each other in the scenarios they put us through. No matter who they put in with us or the what the scenario was, we found each other,” Newt said, softly.

Stiles said, “We were friends…Or enemies…”

“Sometimes, even lovers, I think?” Newt could feel his cheeks heat up even as he said the words. But like always Thomas didn’t notice his discomfort about it, which for once Newt was grateful for Thomas’ obliviousness.

“That still doesn’t explain why Stilinski called you, what was it? Kathrine?’ Jackson asked.

“ _Katrina_ ,” Newt muttered, as he rubbed a hand over his face. How to explain that? “There were side effects to having our memories wiped. We were more offend than not given sets of false ones, time, and again in virtual reality. In some cases, like with Katrina, we had avatars…”

“Avatars?” Danny asked, “Like in RPG’s computer games?”

Newt nodded. “Most of the time, the scientists wanted us to be what they, well, _programmed_ us to be or some version that was close to ourselves. But sometimes they wanted us to be the opposite sex.”

“Why? What good would that do?” Jackson asked.

Lydia smacked in the hand of his head with the heal of her hand. “For a lot of reasons, dumbass! Men could learn a lot by walking a mile in our shoes.”

“Sorry, but high heels don’t do anything for my legs,” Jackson said with a smirk.

“High heels aren’t for making your legs look good; they are for making your ass look good,” Erica said.

“How does that even work?” Jackson muttered.

Lydia sighed, “It was to do with posture…”

“As riving as this conversation is? Let’s get back to Newt’s and Stiles story.”

“Boyd’s right,” Derek said.

At least Newt now knew the guy’s name. Newt sighed, “Things bled through sometimes, the relationships we had in the scenarios. They couldn’t stop it. They wouldn’t take everything all the time, but just enough to keep us confused, passive, at least until the Maze.

Tommy figured out that with an almost full swipe? We were closer to who we had been before WCKED took our memories the first time but left the skill sets we had learned. It was the fact that he was so close to being…Stiles? I guess, is what enable him to figure out what WCKED was doing to us. He figured out that most of what we were going through…was not real.”

“Hold on!” Scott exclaimed, looking at Stiles, “Was that why you acted as if you didn’t remember me when you came back? Because you thought it wasn’t real? That you weren’t home?”

“No, Scott,” Stiles said. “It’s because for the first few weeks after I came back home? I barely remembered _who_ I was, let alone anyone or thing from my life. Plus, I was mourning the boy I thought I had killed. Someone I couldn’t tell anyone about because of all the paperwork the government made me and my dad signed so that I could come home!”

“You…” Newt started, realizing an awful truth, “really thought I was dead?”

“No one told me any differently, Newt,” Stiles said, tiredly.

“But the agents that rescued me? Told me that they would let everyone know we were alive!” Newt exclaimed.

“Surprise Newt, our government lies,” Stiles said in the harshest tone anyone in the room had heard him into Newt. “We should know that. Better than anyone.”

_Yes,_ Newt thought, _we really should._

 


	6. Chapter 6

Derek slowly cleaned up the loft from the mess that Jackson’s aborted party had left behind. Things when down hills when Danny and Lydia started asking Stiles and Newt about the computer chips in their brains and if they were still active to which Stiles answered,

“Yes, we still have them! It was deemed too dangerous to take them out. Hell, half the doctors that saw us couldn’t figure out how we were still alive and functional. Because where the chip is? It should have killed us. They were able to use WCKED’s tech to shut them off, but everyone still suffered memory problems.” Stiles said, irritated by their questions.

Jackson decided it was time to go shortly after Newt and Stiles told their story about being kidnapped by the WCKED agency. Jackson had to drag Newt away from Stiles practically, and Stiles looked ready to murder Jackson for touching the blonde boy. Newt was almost to the front door when Stiles, who sat on the bed, hissed out, “ _Ide po ciebie, Newt.”_

The words caused Newt to jerk to a halt and glance over his shoulder to look at Stiles. Stiles only repeated the words, infusing them with meaning only Newt seemed to understand because he nodded once and followed Jackson out the door without any argument.

Stiles got up off the bed and walked over to the enormous picture windows that Derek had to replace more than once due to supernatural bullshit. Derek thought they were pretty, and the cost to replace them time after time is worth it. Stiles crosses his arms over his chest; he gazes out the window. Derek can hear Jackson’s car start and Derek knows Stiles is watching the car leave.

Slowly the other members of the pack make their way out the door, after helping to clean up or take out trash bags as they leave. Scott lingered at the front door, clearly torn between wanting to be there for Stiles or going with Kira. Derek was sure he knew which one would win—and yeah, Scott followed Kira out the door, but did give Stiles a long look before leaving. Once more it was up to Derek to be the friend Scott, just wasn’t able to be to Stiles.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Derek asked.

Stiles snorted, still staring out the window, “I think I’ve talked about it enough tonight.”

“You want to talk about him?”

“No,” Stiles said, his body flinching.

“Are you—” Derek stopped when Stiles spun around and snapped, at him,

“Do you want to talk about _Paige_ , Derek?”

Derek flinched at the name of his first love, of the girl he had gotten killed because of a reject werewolf’s bite. The girl _that had died by his hands_ to end her pain.

“Because that’s what he is, my version of Paige! I killed him! He was sick, and there was no cure…” Stiles panted angrily, tears falling from his eyes, “except that there was, only by the time I got it? It was too late! Just a couple of more minutes…if I had just waited,” Stiles wiped at the tears running down his face, “But he was in _pain_ and had suffered for so long, and was _tired_ of fighting! So afraid of losing himself to that illness, to the Flare.

All we had was what we knew of ourselves and to lose that? Was the most frightening thing ever, Derek. It turned out to all be a lie, but it felt so real! I did what he—” Stiles voice broke on a sob.

Derek quickly went over to Stiles, “Hey, hey,” taking Stiles in his arms, hugging the younger boy, “you did as he asked, right?” Stiles nodded against Derek’s shoulder, “He asked for mercy. That’s what you gave him.”

“He hates me! I know he does. He said so!” Stiles cried, his grip on Derek’s shirt tightened as he twisted it in his hands.

Derek had to hold back a snort because there was no way Newt hated Stiles. Not when Newt looked at Stiles as if Stiles was all the blonde boy ever wanted. “He doesn’t hate you, Stiles,” Derek told him. “What you have to remember is that Newt is here. That he is alive.”

“I know, I know. But it still hurts! Why does it still hurt?”

“You’ve been mourning that boy for the last two years, haven’t you?” Derek said in shock, realizing this was why Stiles would randomly smell of sadness and despair. Stiles nodded again. “Finding out Newt is alive is a shock and it’s going to take some time for your head and heart to catch up to reality. That Newt _is_ alive. Once they do, it won’t hurt as much. You won’t forget what happened. It will always be there to remind you to spend every moment you can with him. Living every moment with him to the fullest.”

“How? How do you know that?”

“Because that’s what I feel every time I look at my sister, at Erica and Boyd. I thought I lost Cora in the fire that took my family, and I was shocked to get her back. I came so close to losing Erica and Boyd to the Alpha Pack when they tried to kill them. I promised myself afterward I would live every moment I could for and with them.”

Stiles raised his head from Derek’s shoulder, giving him a long look. “Wow, Derek, I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say in the whole time I’ve known you. Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”

Derek lightly tapped Stiles on the head with his fingertips, “That’s what I get for being nice to you? Sarcasm?”

“You would think something was wrong with me if I wasn’t sarcastic.”

“True,” Derek said, “Seriously, are you okay? Do you want to stay here tonight?”

“Can I? Dad’s working night shift tonight and I…” Stiles ran a hand along the back of his neck, “really don’t want to be alone.”

“You can stay and can sleep down here. Braeden will be here in the morning.”

Stiles walked back over to the bed, “Do I have to worry about your girlfriend shooting me?”

“I don’t know, Stiles,” Derek smirked, Stiles fear of his girlfriend was cute, “have you annoyed her?”

“Not lately,” Stiles said collapsing face first onto the bed and closed his eyes.

***

Jackson jerked awake. Something was wrong. He rolled over and looked at his clock. No, that was right. Frowning Jackson got up out of bed and walked out of his room. He went to the door across the hallway, his hand on the knob, slowly he turned it, pushing open the door. The moonlight highlighted the halo of blonde hair spread out on the pillow. Shadows played off the well-defined lithe bare chest of the sleeper, the figure on the bed curled up tightly but sleeping peacefully.

_Sleeping peacefully._

That’s what was wrong here. That’s what had woke Jackson, was the fact he hadn’t been woken up by Sam because of nightmares. What Jackson had learned earlier tonight and even that hadn’t been the full story, Jackson knew it wasn’t because Stilinski was a cagey bastard that kept his secrets close and Sam? After knowing the boy for a year, Jackson had learned more about Sam tonight than he had in all that time.

“Jackson?” Came the murmured question, “what are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Jackson muttered, walking over to the bed, and laying down on top of the blankets. Sam, no, after what Jackson had learned he wouldn’t think of him as Sam. Call him that yes, cause Jackson always had to be different. Newt blinked at him sleepily but didn’t say anything. “Not used to sleeping alone in my room. I got used to hearing you snore.”

“I don’t bloody snore.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

“Do.”

“Don’t— I’m not having this conversation.”

Jackson settled more deeply into the bed. “When we get up later?” His eyes grew heavy, “I’ll take you around Beacon, show you the sights. Met up with the pack maybe,” he said sleepily.

“Pack?” Newt asked, in a similar tone.

It was the last thing Jackson remembered hearing before sleep claimed him.

 


	7. Chapter 7

When John got home, he put his gun in the gun safe. All he wanted was food and some sleep; he hated nightshift. But mostly he hated it when it was boring during the shift. There hadn’t even been any good gossip to keep him amused. He walked into the kitchen and was startled to see Stiles sitting at the table, with a bottle of John’s whiskey and two shot glasses on the table in front of him. John took his jacket off and hung it on the back of the chair as he pulled it out. He sat down and ran a hand through his graying blonde hair.

“I’m not going to like this conversation, am I?” John asked.

Stiles in reply, unscrewed the cap on the whiskey, tossing it down onto the table. Then picked up the bottle, he pours both glasses fill, then put the bottle down. He pushed one of the drinks to John before Stiles picked up the one in front of him and downed it in one go without so much as a grimace at the taste, which told John a lot about his son’s drinking habits. Stiles picked up the whiskey bottle again and poured another shot, then sat the bottle down. He tapped the rim of the glass with a finger before looking up at John,

“No. No, you are not.” Stiles said, flatly.

John watched as Stiles got his thoughts in order by his son quietly told him about WCKED, about the experiments that he went through, was done _to_ him. Medical, (Stiles told him about the fake disease called the Flare and how it made living zombies basically. “That’s important for later in my story, remember it.” He said.)

Social experiments, running different scenarios, learning different skill sets. “I have the memories CIA Assassin, An Agent of SHIELD, a Google Intern. A medieval woman who was trained with weapons to protect her husband, who was a Seer, and of all things an ice figure skater. I can play the violin, speak at least six languages fluently, and make some conversation in four others, and read in quite a few of them. I could hack the CIA or SHEILD easily. And those are only a few of the skill sets that I can remember consciously.”

And that right there? Explained so much, John thought. If Stiles had the memories and skills that he said he did? The small-town life must have been driving Stiles out of his mind. It was no wonder he was always listening to the Police Scanner.

Or that Stiles had no problem running with werewolves. The supernatural things that happened in Beacon Hills must have come as a respite to the boredom he had to have been suffering. Werewolves and all their problems must have come as a relief.

Environmental experiments, Stiles spoke of a beautiful, well-crafted deadly place with admiration and hatred. “I was stuck in a colossal maze and forced to run, (like lab rats, yes, I can see the irony of that,) looking for a way out, concerning we were trapped in the center of it. Oh, and there were huge biological-robotically monster spiders that wanted to kill anything that entered the maze.”

“I was never sure if the maze itself or the Grievers were real or part of Virtual Reality. I know the Glade, the center of the maze was…” Stiles trail off, lost in his thoughts for a moment then he shook his head, “The Scorch was real, that much I can be certain, I think?”

Stiles spoke of the desert, the heat, and savagery found in surviving somewhere like that. He told John of betrayals, and people recused from WCKED, of friendship and lost. “Without my friends, without _him_? I don’t think I would be here now. It was hard but not as hard as what happened in Last City.”

Stiles told John about the Flare and how he and some of the others had been immune, and how others were not, how couple people of their group contracted the fake illness. How Stiles had looked for a cure, “Turned out, I was the cure, (I was told this by a girl that betrayed me and the others to WCKED.) Or my blood at least. But it was too late for him, for Newt. Fell to the disease, and attacked me. He…died. (None of it was real. Everything that happened in the Last City happened in virtual reality.)”

“But before that,” Stiles reached under his shirt and pulled out a what looked to John, to be a shotgun shell tied to a piece of leather, “he gave me this,” Stiles popped the round open and pulled out some papers, “told me to read it when the time was right. The right time turned out to be after WCKED was disbanded after we were recused, while I was in the hospital recovering from where Janson shot me in the stomach.”

John still wished he could have gotten his hands on that man and his wife, Ava Paige. But they had somehow escaped. They were smart enough to go underground, and nothing had been heard from them or WCKED since then.

Stiles handed the unfolded papers to John. Carefully, he took them and saw that it was a letter. He recognized the name it is addressed to; it was the name that Stiles would only answer to for two weeks after he was recused from WCKED before his memories started to return.

“Dear Thomas,” Stiles’ voice was a faint whisper, his eyes vague, lost in memories that John would never know or truly understand. John looked back down at the scraps of faded paper in his hands, “This is the first letter I remember writing, obviously I don’t remember if I wrote any before the maze and if I did, they don’t matter anymore. Even if it’s not my first, it's likely going to be my last—” Stiles stopped and swallowed, before continuing at a slow pace, one that John would never try and hurry. He understood that this was important to his son, that this letter was special.

“I want you to know that I’m not scared of dying,” Stiles sighed the word, “anyway, but more about forgetting, of losing myself to this virus. That’s what scares me. So, every night, once you are asleep, I say their names out loud. Alby, Winston, Chuck and I say them over and over like a prayer, and it all comes flooding back.”

Stiles inhaled sharply. His voice so soft that John could barely hear it, so he looked down at the letter and read along as his son spoke, “Just the little things, you know, like how the sun would hit the Glade at that perfect moment, right before it slipped the walls, do you remember the night I showed it to you? I do.”

“And the taste of Frypan’s stew. Never thought I would miss that stuff so much! And I…remember you, just a scared little greenie. Who couldn’t even remember his name, but from the moment you ran into the maze, I knew I would follow—” Stiles' voice broke on a soft sob, John looked up to see his son cover his face with his hands as he choked out, “ _Follow you_ _anywhere_ _…”_

Stiles stopped speaking.

John knew they had to finish this, so John began to read the letter out loud, “And I have. We all have. If I could to do it all again? I wouldn’t change a thing: not one action, not one word, not one second. My hope for you is that you’ll be looking back years from now and be able to say the same. The future is in your hands now, Tommy. I know you’ll do what’s right. You always have. Take care of them and take care of yourself. You deserve to be happy, so let yourself be so.

And thank you, for being my friend, for being my Tommy. Goodbye, mate, Newt.”

John stared at what was less than a love letter but more than a goodbye message. Looking up at Stiles, he asked, “You have this whole thing memorized, don’t you?”

“His every last _word_.” Stiles bit out.

“Did you love this boy, Stiles?” John asked, and realized how stupid that question was, of course, Stiles loved the author of this letter. Stiles wore the damned thing around his neck, for darned sake! No, that wasn’t the question John meant to ask, “What I mean is, were you in love with him?” Because it is evident to John that the person who wrote this if they hadn’t been in love with Stiles, they had cared about Stiles deeply.

“I don’t know?” Stiles wailed softly, “There _wasn’t_ time to find out before he was gone. We never had enough _time_.” John moved from his chair to one closer to Stiles and pulled his son into his arms. But Stiles pushed him away, “I’m not done, yet,” he took a deep breath, “Newt’s alive.”

John shook his head, “Stiles, Raphael told you—”

“I know what he told me! And if he was right? Why has Newt been at the same boarding school as Jackson Whittemore? Why did Jackson bring him to Beacon Hills?”

“Could it have been someone that looked like Newt?” John asked. He couldn’t stand to see the look of pain in his son’s eyes.

“I _remember_ what Newt looked like just fine, dad! Either, Agent McCall grew incompetent at his job, someone gave him false information, or he is working for WCKED.”

John leaned back in his chair, thinking about that, and what it meant, “I think I prefer the first option. Because the other two would mean…”

“WCKED is still out there,” Stiles said, a hard look in his eyes.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Newt is laying in the grass, watching Jackson and Danny throw a ball back with their lacrosse sticks. Jackson had shown Newt around Beacon Hills. Newt had seen the High School, the mall, the Sheriff’s station, where Tommy’s dad worked Jackson told him. Jackson didn’t seem to have much respect for Tommy’s dad or Tommy for that matter.

Newt knew Jackson had known Tommy before WCKED had taken him. That Jackson had grown up with him and from what Newt understood Tommy doesn’t act much too different from before Stiles was taken. Newt wondered how much of that was an act for Tommy’s father and friends because no one would be the same after what WCKED had done to them. Not even someone as strong Tommy.

They had stopped at the library when Newt saw it and demanded the use of Jackson’s library card. Where they had met up with Danny, he taught a morning computer class part-time. Something to do with the terms of Danny’s probation for hacking into several government agencies.

Danny, Newt, found out, had only gotten off with a light punishment because he wasn’t trying to cause trouble or sell the information but because he was looking for Stiles. Danny had learned through some sources that teenagers, people in their twenties and a few kids had been going missing for the last few years and that a government agency was rumored to be behind the disappearances.

Newt wondered what would have happened if Danny hadn’t been caught for hacking by the FBI. If he had found WCKED, found proof of what they had done? Could they have been recused sooner?

Danny was the one to bring up practicing Lacrosse with Jackson at the local park. Newt used his leg as an excuse not to play. He lazily flipped through the book next to him and glanced at the small pile of three others, Dune by Frank Herbert, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, The Final Empire by Brandon Sanderson and the book he was reading was called the Hunger Games.

About three chapters into the book, Newt realized he wasn’t a big fan of dystopia as a genre.

Newt glanced up from the book and saw Tommy walking with Scott and the Japanese girl who he never learned the name of, Newt wondered if he should call out to Tommy? Newt wanted to, so very much. He remembered what Tommy had said last night before he left Derek’s apartment,

“ _Ide po ciebie, Newt!”_ The polish words gave Newt hope. _I’m coming for you, Newt!_ And made Newt wonder how he knew it was Polish? Did he speak Polish? But no, Newt didn’t. Or he would have known what _piekny chlopak_ meant, and he didn’t. He only knew what ‘ide po ciebie’ meant. Was that because Tommy told him what the words mean?

If he had Newt didn’t remember when and wasn’t that the cause of all the problems he had? Not remembering. Newt hated what Janson and Ava Paige had done to him. What they had taken and what he would never get back.

Newt made a choice, he sat up and cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled.

***

When Stiles agreed to go to the park with Scott, he didn’t know it was as a third-wheel. But Kira had only given Stiles a bright smile and had latched onto his arm exclaiming that it was time for her to get to know Scott’s ‘like a brother to me’ best friend. Kira had seemed so sweet saying this; Stiles would feel like a monster if he had turned down this gesture of friendship.

“Maybe, maybe it’s like what happened in Dr, Who,” Kira said as they passed a green picnic table with sliver block lettering in the same style and writing that could be seen all over town proclaiming, WICKED IS GOOD.

“What do you mean, Kira?” Scott asked.

“Well, everywhere in time and space in the universe that they went in one of the story arcs was that the Doctor and Rose would come across the words Bad Wolf written in English. Which was strange because half of the time they were on alien planets where English wasn’t even known, right?” Kira looked at Stiles because she knew he was a Dr. Who fan and watched the show?

“And you mean like how Rose was possessed by the time machine, and she was the Bad Wolf because Rose’s hometown was called Bad Wolf Bay?” Stiles asked.

Kira nodded, “WCKED is good. It’s just those three words repeated over and over again it feels like a warning.”

Stiles never thought of that it could be a warning and not a threat.

_If three is a pattern._ Stiles lost the thought when he heard an accented voice yell out,

“Hey, greenie!”

Stiles turned to see Newt, waving and beckoning him over. Stiles gave no thought to Scott or Kira as he went over to the blonde boy like a moth drawn to a flame.

“Hello, Tommy,” Newt said when Stiles got close enough.

“Hi,” Stiles said, shyly back.

“Well, this is a case of UST if I ever saw one,” Danny said, coming up to them with a teasing grin.

“What’s UST?” Newt asked, blankly.

Danny gave him a disbelieving look, then glanced back at Jackson, “Is he serious?”

Jackson nodded, “He randomly asks what something is, some of it has to do with his memory from when he was kidnapped other times, Newt uses that as an excuse when he doesn’t want to answer a question. Does Stilinski do that?” He asked Scott.

“Of course not,” Scott said.

“No, I simply ignore the question until it goes away,” Stiles told them.

“How does that work out for you,” Newt wanted to know.

“Jackson went to England for a year,” Stiles paused in thought, “pretty well, except you know the part where he came back.”

“Loser, if I hadn’t come back, Sam wouldn’t be here now.”

“There is that,” Stiles nodded, his eyes narrowing when Jackson threw an arm around Newt’s shoulders, “And for that, you are in my good graces for now. I don’t expect you to be there for very long though.”

“Why’s that?” Newt asked, shoving off Jackson’s arm.

“Because he’s _Jackson_ ,” Stiles said as if that was an answer.

Jackson glared at Stiles then turned to Scott and Kira, “I heard you made team captain while I was away and your foxy girlfriend plays. I want to see what you have. Play, Danny and me.” Scott looked at Kira, and she nodded. “Great, Stilinski can keep score.”

Stiles only made a face at Jackson, causing Newt to laugh, and oh, that sound. It was one that Thomas never got to hear enough of and would never hear enough of, wanted to hear more of. _He should always be laughing_ , Stiles thought. Stiles vowed to made Newt laugh every day he could.

Stiles spend more time watching Newt watching the other boys and girl playing, and cheering then watching them himself. Newt was just so much more enjoyable. But then Stiles had always thought so, even in the Glade. Newt was the one Thomas had been drawn to, the one he felt the most at ease with, of course then came Minho. But his and Minho’s friendship had been forged in the danger of the maze, the heat of the scorch and hardship. In many ways, it was a lot like the one he shared with Scott, yet different as well. And both were different from the one he had with Newt but no less important to him.

“That was fun!” Kira squealed, knocking Stiles out of his thoughts.

“We lost Kira,” Scott said with sad puppy eyes.

“Wasn’t Kira’s fault you suck as a player, McCall,” Jackson smirked.

“I didn’t say it was!”

“No, but if you had played more and stared less at Kira? You could have won.” Danny said, before taking a drink out of his water bottle.

Scott blushed, looked anywhere but at Kira.

“Stilinski time to get your ass kicked!” Jackson exclaimed, “It’s been so long since I trounced you in lacrosse.”

Stiles slowly stood up, “You sure you can?” He held out his hand for the lacrosse stick that Scott was holding, Scott passed it over, and went to get the one Kira had when Newt stood up too,

“I’ll play, you sit this one out Scott.”

“I thought your leg was bothering you?” Jackson asked frowning.

“It’s not now,” Newt said with a grin that was almost feral in its beauty.

“Do you even know how to play?” Stiles asked Newt in a tongue-in-cheek manner.

“Yes, you bloody moron! You were obsessed with the damned game even in the maze! You made us all learn how to play the game you ‘made-up’ remember?”

Stiles only grinned. Newt held out a hand, and Kira tossed him the stick, Newt caught it and spun it hand over fist then around himself in a complicated move more suited for a staff weapon than a lacrosse stick.

“Okay, showoff,” Stiles said, “it’s not a shovel so you can’t use it as a weapon.”

“Oh, can’t I?” Newt asked, swinging the lacrosse stick at Stiles' head. Stiles quickly brought up his own in a defensive move. The clanking of the rods sounded loud when they struck each other.

“Sure, you want to do this?” Stiles muttered.

“I really do,” Newt said, spinning and bring the lacrosse stick down and behind Stiles' knees knocking him down, Stiles hit the ground and rolled out of the way when Newt hit the spot when Stiles just was with his stick. Stiles kipped to his feet, spun the lacrosse stick in his hand, eyed Newt for a moment, then they both charged each other.

“Should we stop them?” Scott asked, worried that Stiles would get hurt. Stiles and Newt fought with each other the clanking of the stick coming together was fast and loud in the now almost deserted park.

“No,” Danny drawled, “They need to work out all that UST somehow.”

“Um, Danny,” Scott leaned closer to the boy, mock whispering, “I don’t think they have a sexually transmitted disease. Stiles never had sex before,” At Newt stumbled when he heard those words, Stiles tossed a half-hearted glare at Scott. Then Stiles took advantage of Newt’s distraction and aimed his stick at for what he remembered as Newt’s weaker leg hitting it hard enough to sting but not to hurt.

Kira facepalmed at Scott’s words. Jackson rolled his eyes and Danny, slowly moved away from Scott. Scott noticed the looks they were giving him. “Well, he can’t…”

“Stop,” Kira cut in, “You’re only making it worse.”

Newt staggered almost losing his balance and loosened his hold on his stick. Stiles pressed his advantage knocking the lacrosse stick out of Newt’s hands, twisting his own up and over Newt’s head, so it came down behind his back, he twisted it until it was horizontal, grabbed the other end, and used it to pulled Newt up against him until the blonde boy’s chest was flush against Stiles' chest.

“Are we done?” Stiles asked panting for breath. Newt’s eyes dropped to Stiles' lips, swaying closer to Stiles and his hand came up, stopping inches from Stiles' cheek. Stiles couldn’t look away from those chocolate eyes; they held him entranced. Stiles would do anything so long as Newt continued to look at him like that. Even if Stiles wasn’t sure what that soft look meant? He never wanted Newt to look away from him.

“Yo! We playing or what?” Jackson impatient voice called out, breaking the tension between Stiles and Newt. 

Stiles leaned his forehead against Newt’s and muttered, “Shank,”

“I thought he was a slint-head?” Newt murmured back.

“What does that even mean?!” Jackson shouted, then he shook his head. “McCall, your scorekeeper.”

“Right! Team Janny against Team Stewt,” Scott shook his head, “Team Stam?”

“I prefer Newtmas, myself,” Newt smirked. 

Stiles rolled his eyes, “You would. And just for the record? You wouldn’t be the top.”

Newt’s smirk widened, as he pressed himself closer, purring, “Of course I would be, you’re the virgin, Greenie.” Newt’s voice dropped as he whispered, “And I have so many things I want to teach you.”

Stiles' blinked at Newt’s words because he couldn’t mean them the way Stiles thought he did. Newt had to be joking, right? Stiles stuttered out, “Play…game?” Newt licked his lips; Stiles lost his train of thought, “What were we doing again?”

“Lacrosse, Stilinski!”

“Right!” Stiles pointed at Jackson, dropping the stick from behind Newt and moving away from the blonde, “That.”

“It is fair to make him play? He’ll be distracted.” Danny said, amused at how the British boy made Stiles lose his cool.

“An easy win for us.” Jackson grinned.

Stiles expression became blank, and Newt’s eyes went hard. In the end, Jackson learned that an easy win was never going to happen as long as Newt was on Stiles side. Jackson and Danny lost the game fifteen to four. And Jackson was sure he and Danny only got the four points because Newt felt sorry for them.

“Are you guys hungry?” Kira asked, looking at her cell phone, “Lydia just texted me. She, Erica and Malia are at the Diner. The Diner was the fifties inspire restaurant and video game room with a couple of pool and ping-pong tables. It was the most popular place to eat and hang out of their age group.

“Who’s Malia? I don’t think I’ve met her, have I?” Newt asked.

“Not yet, she wasn’t at the party,” Scott said, putting an arm around Kira’s waist, she leaned into his touch with a small content smile.

“Food sounds great,” Stiles said, help Danny gather the Lacrosse stuff, while Newt picked up his books.

“Danny and Sam will ride with me,” Jackson said, grabbing Newt by the wrist, pulling him towards his car. Danny thanked Stiles for his help, but only shrugged at Jackson’s actions with Newt. The glared Stiles aimed at the back of Jackson’s head would have made it explode if Stiles had laser vision.

_It was a good thing that Stiles didn’t have laser vision_. Scott thought. He slapped his friend on the back, “The sooner we get to the Diner, the sooner you will see him again.”

“Am I over-reacting? I’m over-reacting!” Stiles muttered.

Kira laughed at Stiles mutterings, “Someone has a crush!”

Stiles' face froze at the words, and Scott hoped he wouldn’t get mad at Kira. It was sort of evident that Stiles had more than friendship feelings for the Brit. Scott also knew Stiles would not own up to his feelings anytime soon. Scott was sure Stiles was going to try to ignore the feelings until they went away.

“I do not!” Stiles said, offended. The feelings he had for Newt noting so insipid as a crush. “You take that back!”

“Stiles and Newt sitting in a tree,” Kira sing-song, playfully, “K-I-S—” Kira let out a yell when Stiles lunged at her,

“Come here you, pesky fox!”

Kira tried running and hiding behind a tree, Stiles followed after her, and he chased, she let him catch her at Stiles jeep. Kira laughed as Stiles tickled her. Scott followed after the two with a smile on his face. He was glad they were finally becoming friends. Scott quickened his pace to the vehicle.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Everyone was seated around one of the large tables in the Diner, and the waitress brought them menus and gotten their drink orders. Newt found Malia to be…odd. Malia had an undercurrent of anger to her. As if she was mad at the world all the time. Malia was pretty with blond-ish brown hair that fell halfway down her back; it was also messy looking as if Malia had just rolled out of bed. And she had soft brown eyes; Newt found her to be beautiful, in an understated girl next doorway. Kira had just asked her why Malia missed Jackson’s welcome home party.

“Yeah, I was grounded. It was so unfair! I’m sure I wasn’t the first to do it, right?” Malia asked with a pout.

“What did you do?” Newt asked. Malia’s cheeks turn a bit red.

“She bit the mailman,” Lydia said, rolling her eyes as she looked at the menu in her hands.

Newt blinked, then asked Malia, “You bit the postman?”

“Hey! It wasn’t my fault; he startled me!”

“Malia, we talked about this…” Stiles sighed.

Lydia leaned over to Newt, “Until about a year ago Malia was living in the Preserve. There was an accident when she was ten, and she got lost. So, her reactions to things are different from other peoples. She can also be blunt to the point of cruel…she doesn’t mean to be; Malia doesn’t understand why she can’t say every thought that’s in her head out loud.”

“I would like it if you didn’t talk like I can’t hear you.” Malia snarled at the gingered haired girl. Lydia only rolled her eyes. Malia looked over at Newt in an assessing manner, “So that you know; Stiles is my favorite person. He’s helped me a lot in learning how to human.” She paused, “He’s not always good at it,” Stiles made a face at her. “but he’s the only one to take the time to do it.”

“Hey!” Erica snapped, “I took you shopping for clothes!”

Malia glared at the blonde girl, “You tried to dress me like a hooker!”

“Just because I like to show-off my rack doesn’t make me a hooker!” Erica snarled back.

“You keep telling yourself that, honey,” Lydia chimed in.

Erica ignored Lydia, it was safer that way, and continued her argument with Malia instead, “Like the white-trash way you dress is any better. If those shorts were any shorter, you would be able to see your underwear!”

“As I was saying,” Malia said, turning her attention back to Newt, “If you ever hurt Stiles? I’ll tear out your heart and eat it while watching you gasp out your dying breaths.”

“Malia!” Stiles scowled at her.

“What? A vague disclaimer is no one’s friend, Stiles.”

“No more Buffy for you.” Stiles threatened.

“Come on! You can’t deny me, my Buffy! It’s inhumane!”

“Lydia,” Jackson said, suddenly, “Why do you hang out with these losers?”

Lydia glared at him, “Because they like me for me! And not because I cater to their ego.”

Stiles whispered to Newt, “Lydia and Jackson had a bad break up. She’s still bitter about the fact he ran away to England rather than work things out with her.”

“I didn’t run away, Stilinski!”

“You kinda did,” Danny said, agreeing with Stiles.

Jackson glared at him, “Who’s side are you on?”

“Around the same time, you broke up with Lydia; you dropped me as a friend,” Danny said, in a hurt tone.

“I explained that!” Jackson said reasonably.

“That doesn’t mean how you treated us was right, Jackson! You don’t treat people you care about like that.” Danny told him with more than a hint of hurt in his voice.

“I’m sorry! How many more times do you need to hear that?” Jackson asked.

“Until we believe you,” Lydia told him.

Jackson turned to Newt, “You are my new best friend, Sam.”

Newt shook his head.

“You have too,” Jackson whined, “I’m not asking Stilinski.”

“Hey! I’m an awesome best friend!” Stiles exclaimed, “Scott tell them how great it is to be my BFF.”

“You have a key to my house I never gave you,” Scott said, flatly. He had caught hell from his mom when she learned Stiles had made a copy of his house key.

“It’s come in handy; you have to admit,” Stiles told Scott. Scott didn’t comment on that, even though Stiles was right, it had come in handy for Stiles to have it.

“You overshare and ask nosy questions.”

“I’m curious, and if I didn’t overshare, you would know nothing about me,” Stiles said.

The thing, Scott knew, was that Stiles could talk for hours on end, yet, say nothing of any importance. It would only be later that one would realize that they had learned nothing about Stiles himself, only about every subject Stiles had any knowledge of.

“You have horrible taste in movies,” Scott said.

“Star Wars is a masterpiece! Which you would know if you would only watch the damned thing.” Stiles told him. “Tell him Newt.”

Newt looked at Stiles with wide innocent eyes, “What’s Star Wars?” His left hand is coming up to fiddle with a lock of his hair.

Stiles looked floored entirely for a moment, then his eyes narrowed, “You're trolling me, right? I’m being trolled right now.”

“Not everyone is obsessed with the movies like we are, Stiles,” Kira said, taking her ice tea from the waitress that appeared with their drinks.

“I prefer Indiana Jones, myself,” Erica said, taking her chocolate milkshake.

“Oh, those were good movies!” Newt said, taking his strawberry milkshake.

“That you’ve seen?” Stiles muttered, his coke-cola.

“Harrison Ford was hot back then,” Malia said, her milk.

“He so was,” Kira said, and Erica made a sound of agreement.

“Indy was smart,” Lydia said, had gotten a lemonade.

“I liked the shirtless scenes. There should have been more of those.” Danny said. Jackson said nothing only rolled his eyes. Danny got his lemon-lime soda and Jackson a bottle of water.

“I liked the kid sidekick in the first one,” Scott said, had got a bottle of water too. The waitress took their food orders, once she left, Kira said,

“No one liked the kid. Or the love interest in the first movie.”

“I’m surrounded by trolls.” Stiles sighed.

“You love us.” Malia smiled.

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.” Newt grinned at Stiles.

“No, no!” Stiles said, holding up a hand as if warding Newt away from him, “Don’t think you can bat your pretty brown eyes at me and think I’ll forget your crime.” He looked at the others at the table, “Next movie night? We are watching Star Wars!”

Newt only smirked. _Tommy thought his eyes were pretty?_ Newt thought. It was a start. Something Newt could work with; he would have to just up his flirting with Tommy and go from there.

Finally, their food came, and the conversation turned to other things. What living in England was like for teenagers? What Newt and Jackson’s boarding school was like and the other boys there, and yes, it was an all boy boarding school.

“And that’s how I figured out how I was Bi-sexual,” Jackson said.

Lydia snorted, “If that helps you sleep at night, sweetie, you go on telling yourself that lie. I know better I dated you.”

“Lydia,” Jackson said in a warning tone.

“I knew whose ass you were staring at when it wasn’t mine,” Lydia said with a sweet smile.

The conversation turned to the subject of the graffitiing town.

“Yeah, it’s an eyesore,” Jackson said, “And it’s little wonder that the cops in town haven’t caught whoever is doing it.” He tossed a smirk at Stiles, “they are an incompetent bunch.

“Watch your mouth, Whittemore,” Stiles snarled, “The deputies do a lot to protect people in this town,” he lowers his voice, “even from the things they shouldn’t have too.”

Which confused Newt the police were supposed to protect everyone, from the people that would harm them. That was their job, right? Jackson rolled his eyes but looked like a scolded kid at Stiles words.

“I think it’s a warning,” Kira announced.

Newt frowned, “Kira, only Tommy and I know what WCKED is capable of doing. So, it begs the question…Who’s doing the warning?”

Everyone went quiet at Newt’s words, not liking where their thoughts took them.

“Well, on that cheery note,” Erica said, breaking the tense silence, “does anyone have any plans for tomorrow?” Erica asked, stabbing a cherry tomato from the last of her salad.

To which no one but Kira had an answer for, “My cousin is coming to live with us. He’s supposed to arrive tomorrow.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Scott asked, looking surprised.

“I found out about it yesterday, Scott.”

“After he gets settled in, you should bring him to meet us, Kira,” Stiles told her.

Kira gave him a bright smile, “Okay! I think Kai will like all of you guys!”

Stiles smiles back, then said, “You were saying, Catwoman?”

The nickname always made Erica grin, “Let’s go ice skating!”

“It’s summer? How are we going to do that?” Newt asked, then popped his last fried mushroom in his mouth.

“Oh, my honey bear works at the local ice rink.”

“I still can't believe Boyd lets you call him that,” Danny said, dipping the last of his French fries in the mustard on his plate.

“Skating sounds fun,” Lydia said, pulling out her cell phone and scrolling through the screen with the pad of her finger.

“Yes, to you because you use to be a champion skater as a kid,” Jackson muttered.

Lydia, looked away from her phone to glare at him, “I’m still a champion. I just don’t compete anymore.”

Stiles rolled his eyes as Lydia and Jackson fell into their old habit of flirting/bickering. “So,” he drawled, getting Newt’s attention.

“What?” Newt asked.

“What?” Stiles question back.

“You have that look on your face, Tommy.”

“What look?”

“The one that says you have something to tell me and you know I’m not going to like it.”

“Dinner…. Sunday.” Stiles finally stuttered out.

“What about it?” Newt asked, confused.

“My dad wants to meet you, so come to dinner on Sunday,” Stiles told him.

“Wow, meeting the parent already?” Erica said with a smirk, “I didn’t know you two were that serious yet.”

“Slim it, Erica,” Stiles snarled. Erica looked taken back by the weird slang but got the gist of it and kept quiet because of the look on Stiles’ face just then? Kind of scared her.

“Yeah, okay,” Newt said suddenly.

“Yeah?” Stiles asked, looking back at Newt, with a shy smile.

“Yes, Tommy, I want to meet your dad too,” Newt told him.

“Sunday then at seven?”

Newt smiled, “It’s a date.”

_Oh, god!_ Stiles thought, slightly panicked, _what have I done? Why did I let dad talk me into asking Newt Sunday dinner?_ But Newt seemed unbothered and asked Erica what else there was to do in town.

Stiles and Newt are the first to finish eating and to pay. Stiles’ paid for Newt’s meal, Newt only smiling when he did so, then they walked outside. They were standing by Stiles car, “Are you sure you are okay with dinner on Sunday?” Stiles had to make sure.

“I wouldn’t have bloody said I’d come if I weren’t, now would I?” Newt asked he stepped closer to the other boy. He could tell something was bothering his Tommy. “What’s wrong?”

“Have I,” Stiles started to bring up his hand, and Newt thought that Stiles was going to touch him, but Stiles aborted the movement and stuck his hand behind head, then rubbing the back of his neck, “told you how glad I am that you are alive?”

Newt smiled at the awkward delivery of that sentence. “No,” Newt leaned even closer to his Tommy, bracing one of his hand over Tommy’s shoulder on the car, “But I’m started to figure it out.”

“Ar-are you?” Stiles said nervously, jerking back from Newt banging his arm against the door of his jeep. Newt used his other hand to cup Stiles cheek, making Stiles' eyes go wide, as Newt got closer, and closer, _oh,_ Stiles thought, _this was a thing that was happening!_ Stiles could feel Newt’s breath against his lips and—

The dinging of the opening door of the Diner, caused Newt to jerk back startled as Jackson and Danny came out of it followed by an angry Lydia, a bored Malia, and an amused Erica. Jackson made a ‘let’s go’ gesture at Newt. Newt gave Stiles a frustrated look before walked over to Jackson’s car and got in it. Stiles watched the car drive away, and his only thought was, _Jackson’s time in my good graces will be short if he keeps this up._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Story Soundtrack  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkKquySbbyKD20qiPNDZ53Fo8odqrAmjh  
> Take Me to Infinity-Consoul Trainin  
> Radioactive in the Dark-Mash-up-Imagine Dragons & Fall Out Boy  
> The Arena-Lindsey Stirling-Nightcore Cover  
> History Marker-Caleb Hyles Cover  
> This is Me-Greatest Show Man  
> Run This Town-Jay Z & Rihanna  
> I(Just)Died in Your Arms -Hidden Citizens Cover

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Wish We Could Turn Back Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21859675) by [Nightingale231](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightingale231/pseuds/Nightingale231)




End file.
